


The First Ride and the Last

by gypsyweaver



Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [11]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: COVID-19, Coronavirus, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Other, Post-Canon, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship, Weird Biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23952019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsyweaver/pseuds/gypsyweaver
Summary: After a huge party in a New York penthouse, Pestilence is Called to ride. He knows where he's supposed to ride, and who can get him where he needs to go.But Pollution is NOT going to like it.On the ride from New York to New Orleans, he reminisces on his relationship with his onetime mentor.
Relationships: Beelzebub & Pestilence (Good Omens), Pestilence/Pollution (Good Omens)
Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684990
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	The First Ride and the Last

**Author's Note:**

> CW: weird sex, underage sex (consensual, nongraphic), awkward adolescent attempt at seduction

Pestilence had been between Pollution’s legs when he’d first felt it. They’d gone to a very expensive party at an exceptionally schwank penthouse, owned by a casual contact of Dr. Mal’s. He was welcomed in with the Instagram influencers and the dizzyingly wealthy elite of New York. The ones who imagined that they could party their way through a pandemic. Like in that story from Poe. His lips parted over his even, white teeth at the thought of the expensively dressed and perfectly coiffed corpses that would fall in his wake.

Pollution just went as their delightful self, head-to-heel white leather, pretending at being a foreign model. They smoked a pack of cigarettes and took a ton of pictures with a few Insta Baddies that they maintained a nodding acquaintance with.

Since Pestilence was being the genial and down-to-earth Dr. Mal, he’d let Pollution wear the crown. It turned black in their hands, and they wore it regally.

After an evening with the empty smilers and nouveaux scene kids, watching teenagers with expensive names get high on questionable drugs before dragging each other off into dark rooms--after making certain that the wealthy still bowed to him, Pestilence had taken a very expensive bottle of whiskey and Pollution back to a seedy motel that was still in operation.

Pollution’s very favorite kind.

The leather jumpsuit had one zipper and they shed it like a serpent shedding skin. They tossed the crown on top of it.

Pestilence took his time with his suit, sipping pilfered whiskey as he slipped the tie off and unbuttoned his blouse. He loved watching them watch him, as they smoked their last cigarette down to the filter.

He made a show of it, and they reached between their thighs, feeling themself as they butted out the cigarette. They exhaled a cloud of smoke around their fine features, a dragon smiling at their prey.

That last cigarette was still in their mouth when they kissed him. After his suit had fallen to the floor in pieces, like the husk of a cicada. When he pushed them into the lumpy, likely infested mattress, they laughed and the cancerous dregs of smoke found his nose and mouth. They smelled like hot asphalt, deadly and delicious, as they yielded to him. As he slid down and began marking every inch of their skin with kisses that burned like brands.

He never knew what he was going to find between their legs. Sometimes, they hid it from him as long as possible, whatever new toy their mind and flesh created for him. This time, though, they spread their legs easily for him, revealing a perfectly inviting little quim. It leaked blackish ichor, which smelled like hot steel and exhaust.

“Isn’t this a pretty little thing?” he said, running an appreciative thumb across the lips.

The lips of their vulva pursed and kissed his thumb and then the fingers he presented to it. As he entered them, a velvet tongue met him, slender as a chrysanthemum petal and prehensile as a snake. It looped all the way around his fingers and then withdrew.

“Oh...it’s been a while since you made this one, hasn’t it?” he asked.

“Cholera,” they whimpered in response.

“Yeah. Cholera...” he dipped his head down and kissed Pollution there, parting their lips and letting the nimble little tongue twine around his. They tasted like diesel and motor oil, their juices rich with carcinogens. He licked them down and then up, pulling the clit into his mouth and sucking on it.

He felt them cling to the cheap comforter as he sucked at them. As his fingers danced with the gentle tongue inside. As he stroked their lips and their slick walls. They tensed, growling his name like an old engine. Pestilence played with them a bit longer before pushing them over the edge with tongue and fingers.

He’d brought in a bottle of forty weight in case they needed it, but Pollution was dripping and ready for him. He reared up over them, stroking himself as he chose the precise configuration of warts and growths to decorate his cock with. A veritable bouquet of flesh studded him from head to base. Something fun for Pollution to trace out with that slick, slender tongue.

Pollution rolled, kneeling in front of him. They teased his hot, bulbous flesh with teeth and tongue before they took him in their mouth. He watched them fingering themself as they did it, their desire slicking their thighs in black streaks.

The whole room smelled like poison. He wouldn’t last long like this. Thankfully, Pollution wasn’t one to make him wait. They worked him dutifully, head bobbing up and down like an oil horse, drawing pleasure from him like crude.

In exchange, he did not move. He became the earth, and allowed them to work him, to dig deep, and to draw forth. He swept his hand under their white hair, feeling the flare in the base of his spine run hot through his loins. He held them in place, spilling his infected seed into them. He felt them grunt and swallow as he pet the back of their head.

“You think we should have brought one of those Instagram kids with us?” he asked, as they pulled back.

Pollution undicked their mouth, but kept stroking him with their delightfully sharp little nails.

“Absolutely not. They were all so...dull,” they said, with a tragic eyeroll. “I fingered the girl in the unicorn costume--“

“I thought so,” he said with a wry grin. “I thought that was what you were doing.”

“It was awful! She was too trashed to register her own orgasm.” They swirled their tongue over the head of his cock, causing him to rise anew. They dipped gently into the crevices between growths of flesh. He groaned as they lingered over a particularly sensitive tumor. “It must’ve been a full minute after she came that she finally went, ‘Oh!’...and she kissed like a dead fish.”

“So, we’re not missing out on anything?”

“Did you see anything that you liked?” they asked.

“Just you,” he said, pushing them backwards and grabbing their knees up before they could protest.

He was hard already, but that was normal with Pollution. They sighed as he nudged them with his cockhead, teasing until they crossed their legs behind him and pulled him in.

It had been less than twenty-four hours. It had been decades. He missed this and he missed them, so very much. He buried himself in their heat, in their need. His thumb found their clit and stroked it. Teasing it as their lithe little tongue teased him inside.

He didn’t bother with words, just harsh exhales and groans as he pushed into them. As he rode them, higher and higher. He felt them getting tighter around him. They were close, and so was he.

And that’s when he felt it, a Calling. He needed to be somewhere else, and soon.

But not immediately. He began to piston in and out of Pollution, who screeched as he battered them. The friction exploded some of the more fragile swellings that he’d left on his cock, but the pain only drove him forward. Faster, harder. They were close, and he was not far behind.

Pollution came, screaming and raking their claws into the flesh of his back. He followed, calling for them.

As he softened, he withdrew from them. Blood and serum from the broken blisters of his cock leaked out of Pollution, along with their own streaky black juices. The room stank of burnt fuel and diseased flesh.

He laid his head on Pollution’s shoulder, kissing their neck.

“Tired, already?” they asked, winding a lazy hand through his hair.

“No...” he said.

“What then? You want to find a mortal to poison?” they asked, and there was a sparkle in their pale eyes when they made the suggestion. “The guy at the check in desk was cute. And the cleaning girl...she looked really...healthy...” They rolled him over and laid on his chest. Pollution laid a gentle kiss on his nose. “I’ve got a schoolgirl outfit...I can make some tentacles...”

“That is...very tempting,” he admitted. “But that’s not it. I feel like I’m being Called. I know where I’m supposed to be--I think? But I have no idea how to get there.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“Well, I know who would know how to get me where I need to be...”

“Who?”

“You’re not going to like it...”

“Whatever it is, I’ll deal with it.” They kissed him, drawing his feverish tongue out of his mouth to play with theirs. “Do we have to go now?”

“I’m afraid so,” he said.

Even though Pestilence wanted nothing more than to stay on this crappy hotel bed and make the mattress springs sing, duty called. Duty tended to get aggravated when it was not acknowledged.

That’s how they ended up speeding down the I-95 to Miami, where they would take the I-10 to arrive in New Orleans--a nearly twenty hour trip completed in a little less than fourteen hours. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Once he was in New Orleans, Pestilence used the coin in his pocket to guide him. Beelzebub’s face, in profile, on one side. On the other? A crown with a distinct fleur-de-lis motif.

He’d been barely a boy when Beelzebub had taught him to use it.

“You won’t come with me?” he’d asked, his voice breaking.

He was an adolescent then, still getting used to assuming a human form. He was leading his new horse, a half-grown dappled mare, by a woven bridle. Her saddlebags had already been packed by Beelzebub with the fruits of the second harvest of summer. While Pestilence did not have to eat, it strengthened him when he spent more than a few hours in humanskin.

Now, he was looking at his first ride, through the first Nun-Ki, the first great city of men. He would be staying in human flesh for a year or more, when he’d been mostly a spirit and only occasionally enfleshed before.

Autumn rain sprinkled down on a sunny day, and Beelzebub had brought him to the little cottage that they kept in the green lands, away from the world of men.

The cottage where he’d slept many nights curled up against them. Getting used to his flesh, to the heartbeat and the lungs and the wet feeling of blood coursing through his veins.

Pestilence had never been given a mother, but he’d been given Beelzebub. They were kind to him, guiding him even as their insects decayed the bodies of the mortals that he killed.

Now that he was older, he had some sympathy for his mentor, who loved the humans that he was destined to kill. He was not as forgiving when he was younger.

“I cannot follow you,” they said, and sank down on the stones beside the waterfall. “Come to me, boy-child. I would have words before we part.”

He tied the mare to a tree branch, where she could reach the apples. Then he went to Beelzebub. He wanted to sit in their lap, as he had when he was very small. But he was not so small anymore, so he took a seat by the water, in front of them. Their blue eyes regarded him, and they looked very sad.

They took his hands in theirs. His hands burned like the sun, and their hands were cool as rain. They leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. The fever ran hot in him. He burned with it.

“I cannot ride with you...” they said, and there was an ache in their words. “You must...you must be who you were intended to be. And I would slow you down.”

“You wouldn’t!” he said, with a boy’s stubbornness. “You wouldn’t. I want you to come.”

“You know what I do to your work,” they said. Measured words, gently delivered. “I cannot interfere with you. What I am and what I do both come very naturally to me. What you are and what you do both come very naturally to you. It is neither your fault nor mine that we cancel each other out. I have taught you many things, but the time has come for you to go out on your own.”

They reached up and brushed a lock of auburn hair around his ear. “What’s this?” they asked, drawing a silver coin from his ear.

“Was that a miracle?” he’d asked, excitedly.

“No, just a trick,” they’d said, and showed him how it worked. Pestilence had practiced with them until he got it right.

“This will always lead you to me,” Beelzebub had said, and showed him how to turn the coin in his hand. The profile of Beelzebub on the face of the coin pointed at themself. “No matter where you are, you’ll know where to find me.”

He looked at the coin and looked at them. Slowly they rose from the stones and opened their arms to him. He went to them, as he had when he was a little child. Only when their arms were around him did he realize that he’d grown taller than them.

“I got taller than you,” he said.

They smiled up at him. “True, but it’s no great accomplishment. I’m the smallest, and will likely stay the smallest.”

Pestilence thought that he was no longer a little boy, and that thought gave him a measure of pride. He looked down at his mentor, and realized that as he’d matured, so had his affections. And why not? They were beautiful and capable. It was easy to love them.

He knew what men and women did. He liked the press of their body against his. He liked their brilliance and their affection. He wanted, for the first time in his existence. His flesh began to swell, and he knew that it was for them. He wanted, and he lusted. He leaned down and kissed Beelzebub. Not a child’s kiss, but something more lingering.

They did not push him away, but turned their face from him. “No, child. Not like that. Never like that.”

He thought now, as he navigated the convoluted streets of New Orleans, that Beelzebub must have thought that the change in his affections would happen. And they must have decided on a course of action before he ever grew bold. At the time, his shame and rage were deadly things. And yet...

“Pestilence, I was assigned to be your mentor,” they said, and cupped his shame-tinged cheek in one hand. “I have taught you so many things. Let me teach you this last.” If Beelzebub had released the embrace, perhaps things would have gone differently. He might have struck them and run away. But they’d held him there, and he'd longed for their comfort even as he dreaded their rejection. “If you are ever given the responsibility of teaching another creature, of fostering a young intelligence and giving a little one purpose and meaning, you never take advantage of that position. You never use them in that way. You never take your pleasure from their flesh. It’s wrong.”

“But...I want you to?” he’d asked, confused.

“It doesn’t matter. It would harm you. I promise that it would harm you,” they said, and there were tears in their eyes when they’d said it. At the time, he felt that they were placing a very arbitrary barrier between the two of them. He felt he deserved comfort, and that was what he was asking for. Surely not that far removed from when he’d begged his way into their bed when the thunderstorms came in the springtime. Back when he was very small. But now, older and wiser, he found himself agreeing with what Beelzebub said next. “Sweet child, I may be your mentor--and I’ve done my level best to be a good one--but you and I were always meant to be at odds. Two people, constantly undoing each other’s work--that does not make a strong union.”

He’d nodded, because that made sense to him, even then. “Kiss me goodbye?”

They had, a gentle kiss. A chaste thing, but cool as rain on a fevered brow, and their small hand reaching down, moving the blood away from his cock and making sure that his clothes were arrayed well. Like they did when he was a little boy, still learning how to put himself away after a piss.

He’d tried again, a few more times over the years. Their rebuffs had been expected and perfunctory. They never wavered. Their affection for him never waned, but it never became what Pestilence wanted.

He was grateful for that, now. Because he met Pollution on that first ride. A barefoot child in a white gown, running around in a cloud of dust and scraps of bloody bandages. They knew their name, and little else. He’d brought them back to the little cottage by the water, and they’d grown more quickly than any human child could have.

He found the right street and turned. He was close, very close.

His memory of Beelzebub, when the world was still new, and he was a half-grown boy, smiled sadly at him.

_“If you are ever given the responsibility of teaching another creature, of fostering a young intelligence and giving a little one purpose and meaning, you never take advantage of that position. You never use them in that way. You never take your pleasure from their flesh. It’s wrong.”_

He looked down at Pollution, gently snoozing in his sidecar.

 _Cocked that right up, didn't I?_ Pestilence thought.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not gifting this one to anybody. I don't want to offend anyone by gifting them with an arguably gross sex scene. But, if you want it, comment to me, and I'll gift it to you.
> 
> There are terms that may not be familiar to people who didn't grow up around machinery and oil welling. 
> 
> "Forty weight" is heavier, more viscous motor oil. High performance motor oil. Fancy.
> 
> An oil horse is used for land extraction on oil. [It's another word for a pumpjack, as seen here.](https://external-content.duckduckgo.com/iu/?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.hess.com%2Fimages%2Fcontent-images%2Fa-north-dakota-pump-jack.jpg%3Fsfvrsn%3D2&f=1&nofb=1)
> 
> I think that's everything, but if there are any questions, let me know.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love! Concrit welcome!


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